


爱的就是你 (the one i love is you)

by bucketfulloffandom



Category: SWIN, 星动亚洲 | Super Idol
Genre: Drabble Collection, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, couple tattoos, gross cheesy morning stuff, he yifan voice gay! gay!, lapslock, more unrequited feelings it's sad, pre-spicies GAY, unrequited? feelings
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-23
Updated: 2018-01-29
Packaged: 2018-05-15 19:36:32
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 2,719
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5797183
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bucketfulloffandom/pseuds/bucketfulloffandom
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>a collection of super idol drabbles, ideally between 100-1000 words. pairing, word count, and rating before each drabble.<br/>(aka: super idol, more like super gay)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. 早安 (good morning)

 

> chenju; rated G; 210 words

shuchen wakes up to a voice in his ear crooning his name.

“huadi,” that all-too familiar voice says in accented mandarin, drawn out and almost whining, “get up.”

shuchen opens his eyes.

yongju, bare-faced and messy-haired and _perfect in every possible way_ , smiles widely at him. shuchen’s heart quite possibly does a somersault in his chest.

no matter how many times he wakes up to this, to yongju with light (from the floor lamp, but light nonetheless) behind his shoulders and a brightness in his eyes to rival the sun, to the murmur of _huadi_ , _qi chuang le_ , the feel of soft lips ghosting over his cheekbones, his forehead, his eyes—every time, shuchen’s heart skips a beat and he marvels at how lucky he is to love this person, how lucky he is that this person loves him back.

“good morning,” he mumbles, a hand coming up to brush a stray hair out of yongju’s face. yongju’s smile only grows, and he wraps gentle fingers around shuchen’s wrist and brushes his lips over his knuckles. shuchen feels like he can't breathe.

“good morning.” yongju leans closer, until their noses bump. “i love you. kiss me?”

and with a whisper of “i love you too, so much,” shuchen gladly does.


	2. 永远 (forever)

 

> fangfan; rated G; 996 words

Yifan decides his favorite thing is when Fangzhou smiles.

Like how he's smiling, now, excited, because Yifan has just finally agreed with his idea, his _couple tattoo_ idea. Technically, Yifan was the one who brought it up first, but he had been half-joking. Fangzhou had latched onto the notion and held fast for several weeks, until Yifan finally caved. He might regret it later, but right now, the rare smile on Fangzhou’s face, illuminated by the glow of the lights along the bridge, makes it worth it.

“Do you even have room for another tattoo somewhere not so obvious?” Yifan asks, glancing down at the ink on Fangzhou’s forearm. “The editors are gonna be mad if you get another one they have to do something about to hide.”

“For one like this, I’ll find room,” Fangzhou says quickly, then blinks like he's surprised at himself. Yifan raises an eyebrow and laughs a little.

“Cheesy. Gross,” he says, teasing. Fangzhou looks away, embarrassed. It's still almost unbelievable, how _he,_ He Yifan, can make this tough, tattooed, muscular 22 year old blush with just a few words. It's flattering, honestly.

So they decide on a tattoo together, leaning against the railing on a bridge above the Han River, the sun setting behind them. Something small (easy to hide), something explainable (if anyone asks), something meaningful (for the two of them), something precious (because that's what they are to each other, as far as Yifan knows). It’s cheesy and it’s gross and it’s all too wistful for two young Chinese boys training to be idols in South Korea, but in all honesty, Yifan couldn’t care less.

  


Yifan doesn’t start to regret it until he’s sitting down in the chair at the tattoo shop, trying very hard to look anywhere but the various sharp things on the table next to him. Fangzhou, cradling his right wrist with its new tattoo, steps closer, concern etched across his face.

“If you really don't want to do this, you don't have to,” he says, stooping to look Yifan in the eye. Yifan huffs, squares his jaw and looks away pointedly.

“I can do it,” he declares, though his arms are trembling slightly without his permission. Fangzhou’s brows furrow worriedly.

“It's okay if you don't-”

“Shut _up_ ,” Yifan tells him. Fangzhou dutifully shuts his mouth, something he only does on command with Yifan. Yifan can't help but laugh a little at his earnest expression. “I'll handle it, it would be dumb if you just had the tattoo by yourself without, you know, the matching one.”

Fangzhou still doesn't look sure, but he nods anyways. “If you need a hand to hold-”

“Oh, shush,” Yifan sighs exasperatedly. “What kind of wuss do you think I am?”

A wuss, apparently, that Fangzhou knows better than Yifan does. Less than a minute in, Yifan makes a small whimpering sound and blindly grabs at the air with his free hand; Fangzhou is there in an instant, fingers lacing with Yifan’s, mumbling assurances. Yifan finds himself tearing up, not as much because of the pain as it is because of the feeling in Fangzhou’s voice.

He sounds like the only thing he cares about at the moment is Yifan, like the only thing in the world worth worrying about is how Yifan is feeling. He sounds almost frantic, asking, “Are you okay? You alright?” His face gets awfully close to Yifan’s, too, close enough to see the tears in his eyes. “Oh my god, are you _okay_?”

Yifan raises his hand (and Fangzhou’s as well) and pushes him away, blinking hard a few times. “I'm fine, I'm fine, really.” He risks a glance around, avoiding looking at the tattoo artist in case the guy’s judging them, the two Chinese kids making a fuss for some reason. “People are looking at us, Zhao Fangzhou.”

“But are you _okay_?” Fangzhou asks again, stressing the last word. Yifan pouts.

“I already told you, I'm _fine_. It's-” He winces. Fangzhou’s grip on his hand tightens. “It's nothing.”

Fangzhou skims his lips over the back of Yifan’s hand, grinning when Yifan flushes and half-heartedly tries to pull away. “If it's nothing, you don't need me to be here, do you?”

Yifan glares at him. “You're mean. Stay.”

If they weren't in public, judging from the look on his face, he's sure Fangzhou would kiss him right then and there. “Of course. Whatever you say.”

Yifan realizes he really does mean it.

  


He's rather proud of himself afterwards, admiring the little star on the inside of his left wrist on the walk home, though, still red, he dares not touch it. Fangzhou holds out his own wrist, comparing their new tattoos, and clicks his tongue approvingly at the identicality of them.

“See, I told you I could do it,” Yifan says, putting indignance into his voice to get more of a reaction out of the other. “It was no problem.”

“The holes you dug into my hand with your fingernails suggest otherwise,” Fangzhou replies, waving said other hand.

Yifan sticks his tongue out at him. Fangzhou smiles—just what Yifan wanted—and glances around, making sure there's no one in the vicinity, then pulls Yifan towards him and kisses him. Yifan melts into it, though he won't admit it.

“I love you,” Fangzhou says when they part, voice catching a little.

“You're gross,” Yifan responds. He grins, rests his forehead on Fangzhou’s chest, picking idly at a stray thread on Fangzhou’s shirt, then says after a few moments, “I love you too.”

Walking hand-in-hand feels different now, when Yifan looks down and sees those two little black stars almost brushing past each other with each step they take. It feels different, looking at Fangzhou and realizing: it feels _permanent_ now, for all that they are only 18 and 22. Somehow, it still feels like they—not Yifan and Fangzhou, but _they_ —will last as long as the ink in their skin will.

Yifan hopes what he feels is true.

 


	3. 一个别的人 (someone else)

 

> gouhyung; rated G; 500 words

Jinhyung is leaving tomorrow morning.

It's a quieter night in the house, this particular night, as if Jinhyung’s rapidly approaching departure has put a damper on the fiery young spirits of them all—even the voices of the most rambunctious of them are hushed.

Haoyu watches from his bunk as Jinhyung packs clothes into his suitcase, finds little pockets and spaces to stuff fan gifts and birthday presents in, pausing every once in a while to ruffle his hair, scratch his nose or take a drink of water from the bottle sitting next to him. He looks a mess, and exhausted, gaunt, even. Haoyu feels something twinge in his chest.

The door opens, and Liuye is standing in the doorway. Jinhyung looks back, spots him, and his mouth opens; a reverent, almost inaudible _hyung_ drops from his lips.

“Jinheng,” Liuye says, his voice catching, and Haoyu suddenly feels like he is intruding on something. “I'm…”

Jinhyung gets to his feet, eyes fixated on Liuye. Like in a trance, he stumbles towards him. Liuye meets him halfway across the room.

And just like that, Jinhyung buries his face in Liuye’s shoulder, curls his fingers into the material of the back of the Chinese boy’s shirt, and cries out a muffled, “ _I’m sorry_.”

Haoyu feels invisible. His heart thumping in his ears, loud enough for him to wonder if someone else can hear it, drowns out what Liuye says in reply, though he can see his lips moving. He hears, though, Jinhyung laughing shakily, clear as day. He hears the heartbreak in Jinhyung’s voice when he responds with an unsteady _I know_ , as if it were his own voice. He sees the anguish in how Jinhyung trembles, as if it were his own hands he was watching shake—because apparently that's what happens when you love someone.

At the very least, that is what happens when Haoyu loves someone—loves the teammate he’ll have lost by this time tomorrow.

Liuye lifts his head from where he'd rested it on Jinhyung’s shoulder, catches Haoyu’s eye. He whispers something to Jinhyung, who then pulls away and glances over at Haoyu as if he is just now realizing he’s here. Haoyu raises his hand in greeting and manages a weak smile.

“I’ll leave you two be, if you'd like,” he says, already standing up. Jinhyung looks like he wants to protest, but no words come from him. Liuye diverts his gaze to the front of Jinhyung’s shirt. “Take your time.”

Haoyu almost brushes past Jinhyung as he leaves, and that—that _almost_ contact, _almost_ something—is what makes his heart drop into his stomach, perhaps more so than the feeling of what seems like finality as he walks out and closes the door behind him.

Perhaps even more so than, or maybe simply amplified by, the glimpse he gets, as he casts one quick look over his shoulder before the door shuts, of Jinhyung pressing his mouth to Liuye’s, and the words _I’m sorry, I love you_ on his lips.


	4. 再见 (goodbye)

> tilong; rated G; 579 words

They, at the very least, paid for his plane ticket back.

It's only now that everything catches up with him, when there's nothing left for him to do but stare out the window, the runway lights flashing in the 5 AM dark.

It’d been easy, at first, to stop himself from quite processing the past day’s events, to convince himself that _everything is fine, everything is still the same, you're going to wake up with all the others tomorrow morning and go to practice,_ even as he packed his things, but now- now it's _real_. He's on a plane back to China. He's leaving behind what's become his everything over the last year.

The roar of the plane’s engines do nothing to drown out the blood rushing in his ears. If you asked him two years ago, even a year and a half, he would never say he'd be _reluctant_ to go back to China—that was his _home_ , after all.

He has a different home now, though, and he's leaving it.

So this is what Haoyu must have been thinking, on his flight back two weeks ago. Perhaps this is what Guangyun thought, too, as he made that final decision to permanently leave. And maybe even Jinhyung, too, even though he is only an hour or so’s bus ride from the rest of them.

Yunlong has a different home now, in bunk beds and too-little bathrooms, in crowded dorms and messy halls; in boys like Jingyao and Qibo who tower over him and others like Yongju who complain that they are _not short everyone else is just too tall_ , in the kids like Gengyin and Pinlin who keep everyone up far too late into the night belting pop tunes, the other kids who goad them on excitedly like Yifan and Xukun; in the brashness most demonstrated by Shuchen, the quiet thoughtfulness of others like Liuye and Fangzhou; even in the new contestants, always-flustered Im Junghoo, grumbling Jeffrey and heavy-set Kim Myung, baby-faced Deng Qiang, and poor sweet earnest Zhou Wen, who is on his way home as well. Even the two kids that he never got to know, high-voiced Kim Yongjin and tiny Lou Jiongze, were a part of it all.

And most of all, Yunlong has a different home in the boy who speaks three languages, laughs easy and loud, cries just as easily, and loves any and all people he meets with everything he has to give—a home in young Wu Muti.

Muti is like an entire universe, and Yunlong would always be hopeless to fill it all, but damned if he didn't try. It was always a fruitless undertaking—a _mistake_ —for Yunlong to do this—to fall in love with this kid, who seems infinite. Yunlong did anyways.

It’s hurting him now.

Now that he’s here, climbing high over Seoul into the clouds, while Muti is still _there_ —he’s probably still asleep, clambered back into bed after joining the others in seeing Yunlong and Zhou Wen out. Yunlong can picture him, thick hair in tangles, blankets wrapped tight around himself, something about his face ethereal in sleep, something so perfect-

The pang in Yunlong’s heart is too much. He squeezes his eyes shut and lets his forehead rest on the window, trying to focus on the chill of the glass against his skin rather than the heat of the tears pricking at the corners of his eyes or the unbearable, indescribable _hurting_ in his chest. It doesn't really work.

 


	5. 完美 (perfect)

> yulin; rated t; 394 words

Gengyin is beautiful.

He is all pale, smooth skin, soft hair, pink lips. Hoarse, lilting voice, easy smile. Lean muscle, firm, thick thighs. His lashes flutter under tousled brown bangs. He is beautiful.

Pinlin tells him that, laying his hands carefully on Gengyin’s bare stomach. Gengyin’s body jumps a little, trembling. His skin is warm, and there’s a red flush in his face that fades down his neck to his chest. His eyes are wide as he stares up at Pinlin, and _god_ , they’re so _pretty_ -

“You should see yourself,” Gengyin says quietly. His stomach rises and falls in a slow rhythm under Pinlin’s hands as he breathes. The motion feels like an anchor to reality, like this is the only thing reminding Pinlin that Gengyin is real, that something this beautiful really does exist, that something this beautiful is alive and well and _here_ , for him to see and know and touch and love-

“You- looking at you- Pinlin, you’re awful pretty, you know,” Gengyin murmurs. Pinlin smiles crookedly, shaking his head, and Gengyin’s brows furrow, his hand coming up to cup Pinlin’s cheek. “You _are_ ,” he insists, thumb running along his cheekbone. There’s something in his voice, something brimming with affection and admiration, that makes Pinlin’s chest feel unbearably warm.

“I love you,” Pinlin says suddenly, ducking to press his lips to Gengyin’s collarbones.

Gengyin gasps. “I just- what the fuck, I love you so much.”

“You only say that when I flatter you,” Gengyin laughs breathlessly. Pinlin mutters a protest against his shoulder, and Gengyin laughs again. “Kidding. I love you too. Now kiss me.” Pinlin lifts his head just enough for his lips to brush the underside of Gengyin’s jaw; Gengyin sighs and wriggles down the bed to reach his lips, then seals their mouths together.

It's gentle at first, slow and simple and sweet. Then Gengyin pushes up against Pinlin, a hand tangling insistently in his hair. Pinlin can’t hold back the groan that the gentle tug elicits. Gengyin grins against his lips.

“You’re the worst,” Pinlin mutters, already feeling breathless.

“Love you too,” Gengyin repeats, then shifts, flipping them over until he’s straddling Pinlin’s hips. His breath stirring Pinlin’s bangs, he says again, “I love you, so much.”

Pinlin thinks, somewhere between the heat under his skin and the beautiful, perfect boy above him, he might be crying.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> writing yulin from pinlin’s perspective is very easy because I just channel my own love and adoration for yu gengyin and tada 
> 
> i wrote most of this back in like may of 2016 but i found it again and uhhhh Died so i finished it up and now here it is. Fuck


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